Jerome Brooke

Near the centre, near Saint Peters,
Stands the Crystal palace,
In the palace, near the silver fountain,
Sleeps our Queen, all in lace.
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Dark waves rise, then race at the shore,
Black nights of the soul.
At sea, pale clouds, and mist, hide memory,
Moments of joy, and sorrow.
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Dancer, spinning in silk, turn to me,
I do burn.
Lady in black, Maid of Fire, burn me,
Come, return.
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Wolves dance in circles of stone,
Children of Darkness.
Maidens spin, turn for the Lady,
Queen and High Priestess.
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Our Lady of Wolves, soft and kind,
Dance with us, brave one.
Run, leader of hunters, cruel and swift,
Slay her, the waiting, swift deer.
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I saw a lone bird, high in the morning light

I thought of your voice
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Gold I cast before you, the vanquished stand in chains,
Captives all, rebels now lost.
Fallen kings do lie in pools of blood, red and torn,
What matters the cost?
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In the North Sea, nigh Borae, land of the red rubies,
Lay our fleet, in the wild sea.
Over the cruel waves, dark and without mercy,
Sailed forth the dread ships, of our Lady.
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Empress of the waves, Warrior Queen,
Ruler of the bold.
Lead us to battle, lead us to jewels,
And to red gold.
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Fast, fast the river flows,
White with waves.
Speeding thru cold years,
Icy, dark days.
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Your knights of the Cross sail today,
Bound for the South.
Grant us peace, grant us mercy, Lord,
On the Crusade of the Last Days.
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Prince of Mindanao, splendid in bronze,
Marching, so young, so pure.
Vassals bow before your horse, the warband,
Does salute you, bright in azure.
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Ladies of the court, with grace and charm,
All walk with our Ador.
Ladies of love, and courtesans of song,
All these and more.
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Planes of Mirage, clouds of mist, lie deep,
Freed by light.
Ages past, lost to all eyes, dwell below,
Waiting for life.
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Mount, ride my Prince, son of our Queen,
Lead us to Gold.
Pale is the horse, the dim white horse,
That I now do hold.
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High on the hill, round the lone prey,
Wolves sing, howls of cold.
Wolves, gray hunters, sing and run;
Hunters fleet, and bold.
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Wolves howl, chill warning,
Songs of red blood.
Hunters smile, men reach for spears,
Stone, one with wood.
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High, over the sea, stands our Lady,
With hair of gold.
On hills of pure silver, hard driven,
By gales, ever bold.
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Forward sailed the royal craft, ebony and gold,
Gleaming with jewels.
Sails of red great circles made, racing the clouds,
Before a gale of rage.
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Fire dances, circles of stone, leaping high,
Night flows, silently, outside.
Stones dance, in shadows, shadows of fear,
Fear carried, with the tide.
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